Of the three ways in which, upon naturalistic principles, the genesis of the religion of Paul has been explained, one has been examined, and has been found wanting. Paulinism, it has been shown, was not based upon the Jesus of modern liberalism. If Jesus was simply a teacher of righteousness, a revealer of God, then the religion of Paul was not derived from Him. For the religion of Paul was a religion of redemption.

But if the religion of Paul was not derived from the Jesus of modern liberalism, whence was it derived? It may, of course, have been derived from the divine Redeemer; the Jesus whom Paul presupposes may have been the Jesus who actually lived in Palestine. But that explanation involves the intrusion of the supernatural into the course of history; it is therefore rejected by "the modern mind." Other explanations, therefore, are being sought. These other explanations are alike in that they derive the religion of Paul from sources independent of Jesus of Nazareth. Two such explanations have been proposed. According to one, the religion of Paul was derived from contemporary Judaism; according to the other, it was derived from the paganism of the Greco-Roman world. The present chapter will deal with the former of these two explanations—with the explanation which derives the religion of Paul from contemporary Judaism.

This explanation is connected especially with the names of Wrede[94] and BrÜckner.[95] It has, however, seldom been maintained in any exclusive way, but enters into combination with other hypotheses. Indeed, in itself it is obviously insufficient; it will hardly explain the idea of redemption in the religion of Paul. But it is thought to explain, if not the idea of redemption, at least the conception of the Redeemer's person, and from the conception of the Redeemer's person the idea of redemption might in some way be derived. The hypothesis of Wrede and BrÜckner, in other words, seeks to explain not so much the soteriology as the Christology of Paul; it derives from the pre-Christian Jewish conception of the Messiah the Pauline conception of the heavenly Christ. In particular, it seeks to explain the matter-of-course way in which in the Epistles the Pauline Christ is everywhere presupposed but nowhere defended. Apparently Paul was not aware that his Christology might provoke dissent. This attitude is very difficult to explain on the basis of the ordinary liberal reconstruction; it is difficult to explain if the Pauline Christology was derived by a process of development from the historical Jesus. For if it had been so derived, its newness and revolutionary character would naturally have appeared. As a matter of fact, however, Paul does not regard it as anything new; he treats his doctrine of Christ as though it were firmly established and required no defense. How shall this confident attitude of the apostle be explained? It is to be explained, Wrede says, by the theology of contemporary Judaism. Paul was so confident that his conception of Christ could not be regarded as an innovation because as a matter of fact it was not an innovation; it was nothing but the pre-Christian Jewish notion of the Messiah. The Pauline conception of Christ was thus firmly fixed in the mind of Paul and in the minds of many of his contemporaries long before the event on the road to Damascus; all that happened at that time was the identification of the Christ whom Paul had believed in all along with Jesus of Nazareth, and that identification, because of the meagerness of Paul's knowledge of Jesus, did not really bring any fundamental change in the Christology itself. After the conversion as well as before it, the Christ of Paul was simply the Christ of the Jewish apocalypses.

In order that this hypothesis may be examined, it will be advisable to begin with a brief general survey of the Jewish environment of Paul. The survey will necessarily be of the most cursory character, and it will not be based upon original research. But it may serve to clear the way for the real question at issue. Fortunately the ground has been covered rather thoroughly by recent investigators. In dependence upon SchÜrer and Charles and others, even a layman may hope to arrive at the most obvious facts. And it is only the most obvious facts which need now be considered.

Three topics only will be discussed, and they only in the most cursory way. These three topics are (1) the divisions within Judaism, (2) the Law, (3) the Messiah.

The most obvious division within the Judaism of Paul's day is the division between the Judaism of Palestine and that of the Dispersion. The Jews of Palestine, for the most part, spoke Aramaic; those of the Dispersion spoke Greek. With the difference of language went no doubt in some cases a difference in habits of thought. But exaggerations should be avoided. Certainly it is a serious error to represent the Judaism of the Dispersion as being universally or even generally a "liberal" Judaism, inclined to break down the strict requirements of the Law. The vivid descriptions of the Book of Acts point in the opposite direction. Opposition to the Gentile mission of Paul prevailed among the Hellenists of the Dispersion as well as among the Hebrews of Palestine. On the whole, although no doubt here and there individuals were inclined to modify the requirements imposed upon proselytes, or even were influenced by the thought of the Gentile world, the Jews of the first century must be thought of as being a strangely unified people, devoted to the Mosaic Law and jealous of their God-given prerogatives.

At any rate, it is a grave error to explain the Gentile mission of Paul as springing by natural development from a liberal Judaism of the Dispersion. For even if such a liberal Judaism existed, Paul did not belong to it. He tells us in no uncertain terms that he was a "Hebrew," not a Hellenist; inwardly, therefore, despite his birth in Tarsus, he was a Jew of Palestine. No doubt the impressions received from the Greek city where he was born were of great importance in his preparation for his life-work; it was no mere chance, but a dispensation of God, that the apostle to the Gentiles spent his earliest years in a seat of Gentile culture. But it was Jerusalem rather than Tarsus which determined Paul's outlook upon life. At any rate, however great or however little was the influence of his boyhood home, Paul was not a "liberal" Jew; for he tells us that he was a Pharisee, more exceedingly zealous than his contemporaries for the traditions of his fathers.

Birth in Tarsus, therefore, did not mean for Paul any adherence to a liberal Judaism, as distinguished from the strict Judaism of Palestine. According to Montefiore, a popular Jewish writer of the present day, it even meant the exact opposite; the Judaism of the Dispersion, Montefiore believes, was not more liberal, but less liberal, than the Judaism of Palestine; it was from Tarsus, Montefiore thinks, that Paul derived his gloomy view of sin, and his repellent conception of the wrath of God. Palestinian Judaism of the first century, according to Montefiore, was probably like the rabbinical Judaism of 500 A. D., and the rabbinical Judaism of 500 A. D., contrary to popular opinion, was a broad-minded rÉgime which united devotion to the Law with confidence in the forgiveness of God.[96] This curious reversal of the usual opinion is of course open to serious objection. How does Montefiore know that the Judaism of the Dispersion was less liberal and held a gloomier view of sin than the Judaism of Palestine? The only positive evidence seems to be derived from 4 Ezra, which, with the other apocalypses, in an entirely unwarranted manner, is apparently made to be a witness to the Judaism of the Dispersion. And were the rabbinical Judaism of 500 A. D. and the Palestinian Judaism of 50 A. D. really characterized by that sweet reasonableness which Montefiore attributes to them? There is at least one testimony to the contrary—the testimony found in the words of Jesus.

Distinct from the question of fact is the question of value. But with regard to that question also, Montefiore's opinion may be criticized. It may well be doubted whether the easy-going belief in the complacency of God, celebrated by Montefiore as characteristic of Judaism, was, if it ever existed, superior to the gloomy questionings of 4 Ezra. Certainly from the Christian point of view it was not superior. In its shallow view of sin, in its unwillingness to face the ultimate problems of sin and death, the Jewish liberalism of Montefiore is exactly like the so-called Christian liberalism of the modern Church. And it is as far removed as possible from the Christianity of Paul. At one point, therefore, Montefiore is entirely correct. The gospel of Paul was based not upon a mild view of law, but upon a strict view; not upon a belief in the complacency of God, but upon the cross of Christ as a satisfaction of divine justice. Neither before his conversion nor after it was Paul a "liberal."

Besides the obvious division between the Judaism of Palestine and that of the Dispersion, other divisions may be detected, especially within Palestinian Judaism. Three principal Jewish sects are distinguished by Josephus; the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes.[97] Of these, the first two appear also in the New Testament. The Essenes were separated from the ordinary life of the people by certain ascetic customs, by the rejection of animal sacrifice, and by religious practices which may perhaps be due to foreign influence. Apparently the Essenic order did not come into any close contact with the early Church. It is very doubtful, for example, whether Lightfoot was correct in finding Essenic influence in the errorists combated in Paul's Epistle to the Colossians. At any rate, there is not the slightest reason to suppose that Paul was influenced from this source.

The Sadducees were a worldly aristocracy, in possession of the lucrative priestly offices and reconciled to Roman rule. Their rejection of the doctrine of resurrection is attested not only by the New Testament but also by Josephus. They were as far removed as possible from exerting influence upon the youthful Paul.

The Pharisees represented orthodox Judaism, with its devotion to the Law. Their popularity, and their general, though not universal, control of education, made them the real leaders of the people. Certainly the future history of the nation was in their hands; for when the Temple was destroyed the Law alone remained, and the Pharisees were the chief interpreters of the Law. It was this party which claimed the allegiance of Paul. So he testifies himself. His testimony is often forgotten, or at least the implications of it ignored. But it is unequivocal. Saul of Tarsus was not a liberal Jew, but a Pharisee.

The mention of the Pharisees leads naturally to the second division of our sketch of pre-Christian Judaism—namely, the Law. According to Baldensperger, the two foci around which Judaism moved were the Law and the Messianic hope.[98] These two foci will here be touched upon very briefly in order.

Unquestionably post-exilic Judaism was devoted to the Law. The Law was found in the Old Testament, especially in the books of Moses. But around the written Law had grown up a great mass of oral interpretations which really amounted to elaborate additions. By this "tradition of the elders" the life of the devout Jew was regulated in its minutest particulars. Morality thus became a matter of external rules, and religion became a credit-and-debit relationship into which a man entered with God. Modern Jews are sometimes inclined to contradict such assertions, but the evidence found both in rabbinical sources and in the New Testament is too strong. Exaggerations certainly should be avoided; there are certainly many noble utterances to be found among the sayings of the Jewish teachers; it is not to be supposed that formalism was unrelieved by any manifestations whatever of the goodness of the heart. Nevertheless, the Jewish writings themselves, along with flashes of true insight, contain a great mass of fruitless casuistry; and the New Testament confirms the impression thus produced. In some quarters, indeed, it is customary to discredit the testimony of Jesus, reported in the Gospels, as being the testimony of an opponent. But why was Jesus an opponent? Surely it was because of something blameworthy in the life of those whom He denounced. In the sphere of moral values, the testimony of Jesus of Nazareth is worth having; when He denounces the formalism and hypocrisy of the scribes, it is very difficult for any student of the history of morals not to be impressed. Certainly the denunciation of Jesus was not indiscriminate. He "loved" the rich young ruler, and said to the lawyer, "Thou art not far from the kingdom of God." Thus the Gospels in their choice of the words of Jesus which they record have not been prejudiced by any hatred of the Jews; they have faithfuly set down various elements in Jesus' judgment of His contemporaries. But the picture which they give of Jewish legalism cannot be put out of the world; it seems clear that the religion of the Pharisees at the time of Paul was burdened with all the defects of a religion of merit as distinguished from a religion of grace.

The legalism of the Pharisees might indeed seem to possess one advantage as a preparation for the gospel of Paul; it might seem likely to produce the consciousness of sin and so the longing for a Saviour. If the Law was so very strict as the Pharisees said it was, if its commands entered so deep into every department of life, if the penalty which it imposed upon disobedience was nothing less than loss of the favor of a righteous God, would not the man who was placed under such a rÉgime come to recognize the imperfection of his obedience to the countless commands and so be oppressed by a sense of guilt? Paul said that the Law was a schoolmaster to bring the Jews to Christ, and by that he meant that the Law produced the consciousness of sin. But if the Law was a schoolmaster, was its stern lesson heeded? Was it a schoolmaster to bring the Jews to Christ only in its essential character, or was it actually being used in that beneficent way by the Jews of the age of Paul?

The answer to these questions, so far as it can be obtained, is on the whole disappointing. The Judaism of the Pauline period does not seem to have been characterized by a profound sense of sin. And the reason is not far to seek. The legalism of the Pharisees, with its regulation of the minute details of life, was not really making the Law too hard to keep; it was really making it too easy. Jesus said to His disciples, "Except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven." The truth is, it is easier to cleanse the outside of the cup than it is to cleanse the heart. If the Pharisees had recognized that the Law demands not only the observance of external rules but also and primarily mercy and justice and love for God and men, they would not have been so readily satisfied with the measure of their obedience, and the Law would then have fulfilled its great function of being a schoolmaster to bring them to Christ. A low view of law leads to legalism in religion; a high view of law makes a man a seeker after grace.

Here and there, indeed, voices are to be heard in the Judaism of the New Testament period which attest a real sense of sin. The Fourth Book of Ezra,[99] in particular, struggles seriously with the general reign of evil in the lives of men, and can find no solution of the terrible problem. "Many have been created, but few shall be saved!" (4 Ezra viii. 3). "Or who is there that has not transgressed thy covenant?" (vii. 46). Alas for the "evil heart" (vii. 48)! In a very interesting manner 4 Ezra connects the miserable condition of humanity with the fall of Adam; the fall was not Adam's alone but his descendants' (vii. 118). At this point, it is interesting to compare 2 Baruch,[100] which occupies a somewhat different position; "each of us," declares 2 Baruch, "has been the Adam of his own soul." And in general, 2 Baruch takes a less pessimistic view of human evil, and (according to Charles' estimate, which may be correct) is more self-complacent about the Law. But the profound sense of guilt in 4 Ezra might conceivably be a step on the way to saving faith in Christ. "O Lord above us, if thou wouldst ... give unto us the seed of a new heart!" (4 Ezra viii. 6). This prayer was gloriously answered in the gospel of Paul.[101]

It must be remembered, however, that 4 Ezra was completed long after the Pauline period; its attitude to the problem of evil certainly cannot be attributed with any confidence to Saul of Tarsus, the pupil of Gamaliel. It is significant that when, after the conversion, Paul seeks testimonies to the universal sinfulness of man, he looks not to contemporary Judaism, but to the Old Testament. At this point, as elsewhere, Paulinism is based not upon later developments but upon the religion of the Prophets and the Psalms. On the whole, therefore, especially in the light of what was said above, it cannot be supposed that Saul the Pharisee held a spiritual view of law, or was possessed of a true conviction of sin. Paul was convicted of his sin only when the Lord Jesus said to him, "I am Jesus whom thou persecutest."

The other focus about which pre-Christian Judaism, according to Baldensperger, revolved was the Messianic hope. This hope had its roots in the Old Testament. A complete introduction to the subject would of course deal first with the Old Testament background. Here, however, the background will have to be dismissed with a word.

According to the ordinary "critical" view, the doctrine of an individual Messiah, and especially that of a transcendent Messiah, arose late in the history of Israel. At first, it is maintained, there was the expectation of a blessed line of Davidic kings; then the expectation of a line of kings gave way in some quarters to the expectation of an individual king; then the expectation of an earthly king gave way in some quarters to the expectation of a heavenly being like the "Son of Man" who is described in 1 Enoch. This theory, however, has been called in question in recent years, for example by Gressmann.[102] According to Gressmann, the doctrine of an individual transcendent Saviour is of hoar antiquity, and antedates by far the expectation of a blessed line of Davidic kings and that of an individual earthy king. Gressmann is not, of course, returning to the traditional view of the Old Testament. On the contrary, he believes that the ancient doctrine of a heavenly Saviour is of extra-Israelitish origin and represents a widespread myth. But in the details of exegesis, the radicalism of Gressmann, as is also the case with many forms of radicalism in connection with the New Testament, involves a curious return to the traditional view. Many passages of the Old Testament, formerly removed from the list of Messianic passages by the dominant school of exegesis, or else regarded as late interpolations, are restored by Gressmann to their original significance. Thus the suffering servant of Jehovah of Is. liii (a passage which the dominant school of exegesis has interpreted in a collective sense, as referring to the nation of Israel or to the righteous part of the nation) is regarded by Gressmann as being an individual (mythical) figure to whose death and resurrection is attributed saving significance.

The supernaturalistic view of the Old Testament[103] agrees with Gressmann in his individualistic interpretation of such passages as Is. liii, but differs from him in that it attributes objective validity to the representation thus obtained. According to the supernaturalistic view, Israel was from the beginning the people of the Promise. The Promise at first was not fully defined in the minds of all the people. But even at the beginning there were glorious revelations, and the revelations became plainer and plainer as time went on. The various elements in the Promise were not indeed kept carefully distinct, and their logical connections were not revealed. But even long before the Exile there was not only a promise of blessing to David's line, with occasional mention of an individual king, but also a promise of a Redeemer and King who should far exceed the limits of humanity. Thus God had sustained His people through the centuries with a blessed hope, which was finally fulfilled, in all its aspects, by the Lord Jesus Christ.

Discussion of these various views would exceed the limits of the present investigation. All that can here be done is to present briefly the Messianic expectations of the later period, in which Paul lived.

But were those expectations widely prevalent? Was the doctrine of a coming Messiah firmly established among the Jews of the time of Paul? The answer to these questions might seem to be perfectly plain. The common impression is that the Judaism of the first century was devoted to nothing if not to the hope of a king who was to deliver God's people from the oppression of her enemies. This impression is derived from the New Testament. Somewhat different is the impression which might be derived from the Jewish sources if they were taken alone. The expectation of a Messiah hardly appears at all in the Apocrypha, and even in the Pseudepigrapha it appears by no means in all of the books. Even when the thought of the future age is most prominent, that age does not by any means appear in inevitable connection with a personal Messiah. On the contrary, God Himself, not His instrument the Messiah, is often represented as ushering in the new era when Israel should be blessed.

Despite this difference between the New Testament and the Jewish literature, it is generally recognized that the testimony of the New Testament must be essentially correct. The picture which is given in the Gospels of the intensity of the Messianic hope among the Jews must be founded upon fact even if Jesus Himself did not claim to be the Messiah. Indeed, it is just in that latter case that the testimony in some respects would become strongest of all. For if Jesus did not claim to be the Messiah, the attribution of Messiahship to Him by His disciples could be explained only by the intensity of their own Messianic expectations. As a matter of fact, however, Jesus did claim to be the Messiah; the elimination of His Messianic consciousness has not won the assent of any large body of historians. He did claim to be the Messiah, and He died because the Jews regarded Him as a false claimant. But His opponents, no less than His disciples, were expecting a "King of the Jews." The New Testament throughout, no matter what view may be held as to the historicity of the individual narratives, is quite inexplicable unless the Jews both in Palestine and in the Dispersion had a doctrine of "the Christ."

This New Testament representation is confirmed here and there by other writers. Even Philo,[104] as BrÜckner remarks, pays his tribute, though in an isolated passage, to the common Messianic doctrine.[105] Josephus,[106] also, despite his effort to avoid offending his Roman readers, is obliged to mention the Messianic hope as one cause of the great war, and can only make the reference harmless by finding the Messiah in the Emperor Vespasian![107] On the whole, the fact may be regarded as certain that in the first century after Christ the expectation of the Messiah was firmly established among the Jews. The silence of great sections of the Apocrypha may then be explained partly by the date of some of the books. It may well be that there was a period, especially during the Maccabean uprising, when because of the better present condition of the nation the Messianic hope was less in the forefront of interest, and that afterwards, under the humiliation of Roman rule, the thoughts of the people turned anew to the expected Deliverer. But however that may be, it is altogether probable that the expectation of a Messiah was everywhere cherished in the Judaism of the time of Paul.

If then the hope of a Messiah was prevalent in the Judaism of the first century, what was the nature of that hope? Two forms of Messianic expectation have ordinarily been distinguished. In the first place, it is said, there was an expectation of an earthly king of David's line, and in the second place, there was the notion of a heavenly being already existing in heaven. The former of these two lines of expectation is usually thought to represent the popular view, held by the masses of the people; and the latter is regarded as an esoteric doctrine held by a limited circle from which the apocalypses have sprung.

At this point, BrÜckner is somewhat in opposition to the ordinary opinion; he denies altogether the presence in first-century Judaism of any distinctive doctrine of a purely human Messiah.[108] The Messiah, he says, appears in all the sources distinctly as a supernatural figure. Even in the Psalms of Solomon, he insists, where the Messiah is represented as a king reigning upon earth, He is nevertheless no ordinary king, for He destroys His enemies not by the weapons of war but "by the breath of His mouth." In the Gospels, moreover, although the people are represented as looking for a king who should break the Roman rule, yet they demand of this king works of superhuman power.

Undoubtedly there is a measure of truth in this contention of BrÜckner. It may perhaps be admitted that the Messiah of Jewish expectation was always something more than an ordinary king; it may perhaps be admitted that He was endowed with supernatural attributes. Nevertheless, the view of BrÜckner is exaggerated. There is still to be maintained the distinction between the heavenly being of 1 Enoch and the Davidic king. The latter might perhaps be regarded as possessed of miraculous powers, but still He was in the essentials of His person an earthly monarch. He was to be born like other men; He was to rule over an earthly kingdom; He was to conquer earthly armies; presumably He was to die. It is significant that John the Baptist, despite the fact that he had as yet wrought no miracles, was apparently thought by some to be the Messiah (Lk. iii. 15; John i. 19-27). Even if this representation of the Gospels of Luke and of John should be regarded as quite unhistorical, still it does show that the writers of these two Gospels, neither of whom was by any means ignorant of Jewish conditions, regard it as no incongruity that some should have supposed such a man as John to be the Messiah. The Messiah, therefore, could not have been regarded always as being like the heavenly Son of Man of 1 Enoch. But it is unnecessary to appeal to details. The whole New Testament, whatever view may be taken of the historicity of its narratives in detail, attests the prevalence in the first century of a Messianic expectation according to which the Messiah was to be an earthly king of David's line.

This view of Messiahship becomes explicit in Justin Martyr's Dialogue with Trypho, which was written at about the middle of the second century. In this book, the Jewish opponent of Justin represents the Messiah as a "mere man."[109] No doubt this evidence cannot be used directly for the earlier period in which Paul lived. There does seem to have been a reaction in later Jewish expectations against that transcendent view of Messiahship which had been adopted by the Christian Church. Thus the apocalypses passed out of use among the Jews, and, in some cases at least, have been preserved only by the Church, and only because of their congruity with Christian views. It is possible, therefore, that when Trypho in the middle of the second century represents the Messiah as a "mere man," he is attesting a development in the Jewish doctrine which was subsequent to the time of Paul. But even in that case his testimony is not altogether without value. Even if Trypho's doctrine of a merely human Messiah be a later development, it was probably not without some roots in the past. If the Jews of the first century possessed both the doctrine of an earthly king and that of a heavenly "Son of Man," it is possible to see how the latter doctrine might have been removed and the former left in sole possession of the field; but if in the first century the transcendent doctrine alone prevailed, it is unlikely that a totally different view could have been produced so quickly to take its place.[110]

Thus it must be insisted against BrÜckner that in the first century the transcendent conception of Messiahship attested by the apocalypses was not the only conception that prevailed. Despite its dominance in the apocalypses, it was probably not the doctrine of the masses of the people. Probably the ordinary view of the matter is essentially correct; probably the Jews of the first century were eagerly awaiting an earthly king of David's line who should deliver them from Roman rule.

If, however, the transcendent conception of Messiahship which is found in the apocalypses was not the only conception held by pre-Christian Judaism, it is none the less of special interest, and will repay examination. It is found most fully set forth in the "Similitudes" of 1 Enoch,[111] but appears also in 4 Ezra and in 2 Baruch.

In the Similitudes, the heavenly being, who is to appear at the end of the age and be the instrument of God in judgment, is usually called the Elect One, Mine Elect One, the Son of Man, or that Son of Man. He is also called the Righteous One, and twice he is called Messiah or Anointed One (xlviii. 10; lii. 4). This latter title would seem to connect him with the expected king of David's line, who was the Anointed One or the Messiah. Lake and Jackson, however, would deny all connection. The heavenly Son of Man, they maintain, was never in pre-Christian Judaism identified with the expected king of David's line—that is, with the "Messiah" in the technical sense—so that it is a mistake to speak of "Messianic" passages in the Book of Enoch.[112] But after all, the heavenly figure of 1 Enoch is represented as fulfilling much the same functions as those which are attributed in the Psalms of Solomon, for example, to the Messiah. It would be difficult to conceive of the same writer as expecting two deliverers—one the Messiah of the Psalms of Solomon, and the other the Son of Man of 1 Enoch. On the whole, therefore, it is correct, despite the protest of Lake and Jackson, to speak of the passages in 1 Enoch as Messianic, and of the Son of Man as the "Messiah." In 4 Ezra xii. 32, moreover, the transcendent being, who is set forth under the figure of the lion, is distinctly identified with the Messiah "who shall spring from the seed of David." Of course, the late date of 4 Ezra may be insisted upon, and it may be maintained that the Davidic descent of the Messiah in 4 Ezra is a mere traditional detail, without organic connection with the rest of the picture. But it is significant that the writer did feel it necessary to retain the detail. His doing so proves at least that the heavenly being of the apocalypses was not always thought of as distinct from the promised king of David's line. All that can be granted to Lake and Jackson is that the future Deliverer was thought of in pre-Christian Judaism in widely diverse ways, and that there was often no effort to bring the different representations into harmony. But it is correct to speak of all the representations as "Messianic." For the coming Deliverer in all cases (despite the variety of the expectations) was intended to satisfy at least the same religious needs.

The title "Son of Man," which is used frequently in the Similitudes, has given rise to a great deal of discussion, especially because of its employment in the Gospels as a self-designation of Jesus. It has been maintained by some scholars that "Son of Man" never could have been a Messianic title, since the phrase in Aramaic idiom means simply "man." Thus the Greek phrase, "the Son of Man," in the Gospels would merely be an over-literal translation of an Aramaic phrase which meant simply "the man," and the use of "Son of Man" as a title would not extend back of the time when the tradition about the words of Jesus passed over into Greek. But in recent years this extreme position has for the most part been abandoned. In the first place, it is by no means clear that the Aramaic phrase from which the phrase "the Son of Man" in the Gospels is derived was simply the ordinary phrase meaning simply "the man." Opposed to this view is to be put, for example, the weighty opinion of Dalman.[113] In the second place, it has been shown that the linguistic question is not so important as was formerly supposed. For even if "the son of man" in Aramaic meant simply "the man," it might still be a title. The commonest noun may sometimes become a title, and a title of highly specialized significance. For example, the word "day" is a very common word, but "The Day" in certain connections, like the German, "Der Tag," altogether without the help of any adjectives, comes to designate one particular day. So "the Man" or "that Man" could become a very lofty title, especially if it refers to some definite scene in which He who is the "Man" par excellence is described.

In the Similitudes, such is actually the case; the phrase "Son of Man," whatever be its exact meaning, plainly refers to the "one like unto a son of man" who in Daniel vii. 13 appears in the presence of "the Ancient of Days." This reference is made perfectly plain at the first mention of the Son of Man (1 Enoch xlvi. 1, 2), where the same scene is evidently described as the scene of Dan. vii. 13. The "Son of Man" is not introduced abruptly, but is first described as a "being whose countenance had the appearance of a man," and is then referred to in the Similitudes not only as "the Son of Man," but also as "that Son of Man." Charles and others suppose, indeed, that the Ethiopic word translated "that" is merely a somewhat false representation, in the Ethiopic translation, of the Greek definite article, so that the Greek form of the book from which the extant Ethiopic was taken had everywhere "the Son of Man," and nowhere "that Son of Man." The question is perhaps not of very great importance. In any case, the phrase "son of man" derives its special significance from the reference to the scene of Dan. vii. 13. Not any ordinary "man" or "son of man" is meant, but the mysterious figure who came with the clouds of heaven and was brought near to the Ancient of Days.

The Son of Man, or the Elect One, in the Similitudes, appears clothed with the loftiest attributes. He existed before the creation of the world (xlviii. 3, 6). When he finally appears, it is to sit in glory upon the throne of God (li. 3, etc.), and judge not only the inhabitants of earth but also the fallen angels (lv. 4). For the purposes of judgment he is endued with righteousness and wisdom. He is concerned, moreover, not only with the judgment but also with the execution of the judgment; he causes "the sinners to pass away and be destroyed from off the face of the earth" (lxix. 27). For the righteous, on the other hand, the judgment results in blessing and in communion with the Son of Man. "And the righteous and elect shall be saved in that day, and they shall never thenceforward see the face of the sinners and the unrighteous. And the Lord of Spirits will abide over them, and with that Son of Man shall they eat and lie down and rise up for ever and ever" (lxii. 13, 14).

The entire representation in the Similitudes is supernatural; the Son of Man is a heavenly figure who appears suddenly in the full blaze of his glory. Yet the connection with earth is not altogether broken off. It is upon a glorified earth that the righteous are to dwell. Indeed, despite the cosmic extent of the drama, the prerogatives of Israel are preserved; the Gentile rulers are no doubt referred to in "the Kings and the Mighty" who are to suffer punishment because of their former oppression of "the elect." On the other hand, mere connection with Israel is not the only ground for a man's acceptance by the Son of Man; the judgment will be based upon a real understanding of the secrets of individual lives.

In 4 Ezra vii. 26-31, the rule of the Messiah is represented as distinctly temporary. The Messiah will rejoice the living for four hundred years; then, together with all human beings, he will die; then after the world has returned to primeval silence for seven days, the new age, with the final resurrection, will be ushered in. It may be doubted whether this representation harmonizes with what is said elsewhere in 4 Ezra about the Messiah, indeed whether even in this passage the representation is thoroughly consistent. Box, for example, thinks that there are contradictions here, which are to be explained by the composite nature of the book and by the work of a redactor. But at any rate the result, in the completed book, is clear. The Messiah is to die, like all the men who are upon the earth, and is not connected with the new age. This death of the Messiah is as far as possible from possessing any significance for the salvation of men. Certainly it is not brought into any connection with the problem of sin, which, as has been observed above, engages the special attention of the writer of 4 Ezra. "It is important to observe how the Jewish faith knew of a Saviour for external ills, but not for sin and condemnation; and how the Christ is able only to create a brief earthly joy, which passes away with the destruction of the world."[114]

In the "Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,"[115] although BrÜckner is no doubt right in saying that the Messiah here as well as in 1 Enoch is a supernatural figure, the connection of the Messiah with the tribe of Levi introduces the reader into a somewhat different circle of ideas. The difference becomes more marked in the "Psalms of Solomon,"[116] where the Messiah is a king of David's line. It is no doubt true that even here the Messiah is no ordinary human being; he destroys his enemies, not by the weapons of warfare and not by the help of Israelitish armies, but by the breath of his mouth. Yet the local, earthly character of the Messiah's reign—what may even be called, perhaps, its political character—is more clearly marked than in the apocalypses. Also there is stronger emphasis upon the ethical qualities of the Messianic king; the righteousness of his people is celebrated in lofty terms, which, however, do not exclude a strong element of Jewish and Pharisaic particularism.

No complete exposition of the Jewish belief about the Messiah has here been attempted. But enough has perhaps been said to indicate at least some features of the Messianic expectation in the period just preceding the time of Paul. Evidently, in certain circles at least, the Messianic hope was transcendent, individualistic, and universalistic. The scene of Messiah's kingdom was not always thought of merely as the earthly Jerusalem; at least the drama by which that kingdom is ushered in was thought of as taking place either in heaven or upon an earth which has been totally transformed. With this transcendent representation went naturally a tendency towards individualism. Not merely nations were to be judged, but also the secrets of the individual life; and individuals were to have a part in the final blessing or the final woe. Of course, for those who should die before the end of the age, this participation in the final blessedness or the final woe would be possible only by a resurrection. And the doctrine of resurrection, especially for the righteous, is in the apocalypses clearly marked. In 2 Baruch, indeed, there is an interesting discussion of the relation between the resurrection state and the present condition of man; the righteous will first rise in their old bodies, but afterwards will be transformed (2 Baruch xlix-li). Finally, the apocalypses exhibit a tendency toward universalism. The coming of the Messianic kingdom is regarded as an event of cosmic significance. The Gentiles are even sometimes said to share in the blessing. But they are to share in the blessing only by subordination to the people of God.

Despite the importance of the later period, it is interesting to observe that all the essential features of later Jewish eschatology have their roots in the canonical books of the Old Testament. In the first place, the transcendence of the later representation has an Old Testament basis. In Isaiah ix and xi the Messiah appears clearly as a supernatural figure, and in Isaiah lxv. 17 there is a prophecy of new heavens and a new earth. The heavenly "Son of Man" is derived from Dan. vii. 13, and the individualistic interpretation of that passage, which makes the Son of Man, despite verse 18, something more than a mere collective symbol for the people of Israel, is to-day in certain quarters coming to its rights. Not only in the Psalms of Solomon, but also in the apocalypses, the Old Testament language is used again and again to describe the heavenly Messiah. There is, in the second place, an Old Testament basis for the individualism of the later representation. The doctrine of resurrection, with its consequences for an individualistic hope, appears in Daniel. And, finally, the universalism of the apocalypses does not transcend that of the great Old Testament prophets. In the prophets also, the nations are to come under the judgment of God and are to share in some sort in the blessings of Israel.

If, therefore, the apostle Paul before his conversion believed in a heavenly Messiah, supernatural in origin and in function, he was not really unfaithful to the Old Testament.

But was his pre-Christian notion of the Messiah really the source of the Christology of the Epistles? Such is the contention of Wrede and BrÜckner. Wrede and BrÜckner believe that the lofty Christology of Paul, inexplicable if it was derived from the man Jesus, may be accounted for if it was merely the pre-Christian conception of the Messiah brought into loose connection with the prophet of Nazareth. This hypothesis must now be examined.

At the beginning of the investigation, it may be questioned whether Paul before his conversion held the apocalyptic view of the Messiah. It might, indeed, even be questioned whether he was particularly interested in the Messianic hope at all. If Baldensperger is correct in saying that the Messianic dogma was in some sort a substitute for the Law, and the Law a substitute for the Messianic dogma, so that finally rabbinical interest in the Law tended to dampen interest in the Messiah,[117] then the pre-Christian life of Paul was presumably not dominated by Messianic expectations. For Paul himself, as Baldensperger observes,[118] does not, in speaking of his pre-Christian life, reckon himself with the Messianists. He reckons himself, rather, with those who were zealous for the Law. Such considerations are interesting. But their importance should not be exaggerated. It must be remembered that according to the testimony of the whole New Testament the doctrine of the Messiah was firmly established in the Judaism of Paul's day. It is hardly likely that Paul the Pharisee dissented from the orthodox belief. In all probability, therefore, Paul before his conversion did hold some doctrine of the Messiah.

It is not so certain, however, that the pre-conversion doctrine of Paul presented a transcendent Messiah like the heavenly Son of Man of the apocalypses. Certainly there is in the Pauline Epistles no evidence whatever of literary dependence upon the apocalyptic descriptions of the Messiah. The characteristic titles of the Messiah which appear in the Similitudes of Enoch, for example, are conspicuously absent from Paul. Paul never uses the title "Son of Man" or "Elect One" or "Righteous One" in speaking of Christ. And in the apocalypses, on the other hand, the Pauline terminology is almost equally unknown. The apocalypses, at least 1 Enoch, use the title "Messiah" only very seldom, and the characteristic Pauline title, "Lord," never at all. It is evident, therefore, that the Pauline Christology was not derived from the particular apocalypses that are still extant. All that can possibly be maintained is that it was derived from apocalypses which have been lost, or from an apocalyptic oral tradition. But dependence upon lost sources, direct comparison not being possible, is always very difficult to establish.

Thus the terminology of the Epistles and of the apocalypses is rather unfavorable to the view which attributes to the youthful Paul the apocalyptic doctrine of the Messiah. No literary relation can be established between the Epistles and the extant apocalypses. But will general considerations serve to supply the lack of direct evidence of dependence? On the whole, the reverse is the case. General considerations as to the pre-Christian opinions of Paul point rather to a less transcendent and more political conception than the conception which is found in the apocalypses. No doubt the Messiah whom Paul was expecting possessed supernatural attributes; it seems to have been generally expected in New Testament times that the Messiah would work miracles. But the supernatural attributes of the Messiah would not necessarily involve a conception like that which is presented in the Similitudes of Enoch. Possibly it is rather to the Psalms of Solomon that the historian should turn. The Psalms of Solomon were a typical product of Pharisaism in its nobler aspects. Their conception of the Messiah, therefore, may well have been that of the pupil of Gamaliel. And the Messiah of the Psalms of Solomon, though possessed of supernatural power and wisdom, is thought of primarily as a king of David's line, and there is no thought of his preËxistence. He is very different from the Son of Man of 1 Enoch.

It is, therefore, not perfectly clear that Paul before the conversion believed in a heavenly, preËxistent Messiah like the Messiah of the apocalypses. There is some reason for supposing that the apocalyptic Messiah was the Messiah, not of the masses of the people and not of the orthodox teachers, but of a somewhat limited circle. Did Paul belong to that limited circle? The question cannot be answered with any certainty.

The importance of such queries must not, indeed, be exaggerated. It is not being maintained here that Paul before his conversion did not believe in the Messiah of the apocalypses; all that is maintained is that it is not certain that he did. Possibly the diffusion of apocalyptic ideas in pre-Christian Judaism was much wider than is sometimes supposed; possibly the youthful Paul did come under the influence of such ideas. But Wrede and BrÜckner are going too far if they assert that Paul must necessarily have come under such influences. The truth is that the pre-Christian life of Paul is shrouded in the profoundest obscurity. Almost the only definite piece of information is what Paul himself tells us—that he was zealous for the Law. He says nothing about his conception of the Messiah. The utmost caution is therefore in place. BrÜckner is going much further than the sources will warrant when he makes Paul before his conversion a devotee of the apocalyptic Messiah, and bases upon this hypothesis an elaborate theory as to the genesis of the Pauline Christology.

But even if Paul before his conversion was a devotee of the apocalyptic Messiah, the genesis of the Pauline Christology has not yet been explained. For the apocalyptic Messiah is different in important respects from the Christ of the Epistles.

In the first place, there is in the apocalypses no doctrine of an activity of the Messiah in creation, like that which appears in 1 Cor. viii. 6; Col. i. 16. The Messiah of the apocalypses is preËxistent, but He is not thought of as being associated with God in the creation of the world. This difference may seem to be only a difference in detail; but it is a difference in detail which concerns just that part of the Pauline Christology which would seem to be most similar to the apocalyptic doctrine. It is the Pauline conception of the preËxistent Christ, as distinguished from the incarnate or the risen Christ, which Wrede and BrÜckner find it easiest to connect with the apocalypses. But even in the preËxistent period the Christ of Paul is different from the apocalyptic Messiah, because the Christ of Paul, unlike the apocalyptic Messiah, has an active part in the creation of the world.

In the second place, there is in the apocalypses no trace of the warm, personal relation which exists between the believer and the Pauline Christ.[119] The Messiah of the apocalypses is hidden in heaven. He is revealed only as a great mystery, and only to favored men such as Enoch. Even after the judgment, although the righteous are to be in company with Him, there is no such account of His person as would make conceivable a living, personal relationship with Him. The heavenly Messiah of the apocalypses is a lifeless figure, clothed in unapproachable light. The risen Christ of Paul, on the other hand, is a person whom a man can love; indeed He is a person whom as a matter of fact Paul did love. Whence was derived the concrete, personal character of the Christ of Paul? It was certainly not derived from the Messiah of the apocalypses. Whence then was it derived?

The natural answer would be that it was derived from Jesus of Nazareth. The fact that the risen Christ of Paul is not merely a heavenly figure but a person whom a man can love is most naturally explained by supposing that Paul attributed to the Messiah all the concrete traits of the striking personality of Jesus of Nazareth. But this supposition is excluded by Wrede's hypothesis. Indeed, Wrede supposes, if Paul had come into such close contact with the historical Jesus as to have in his mind a full account of Jesus' words and deeds, he could not easily have attached to Him the supernatural attributes of the heavenly Son of Man; only a man who stood remote from the real Jesus could have regarded Jesus as the instrument in creation and the final judge of all the world. Thus the hypothesis of Wrede and BrÜckner faces a quandary. In order to explain the supernatural attributes of the Pauline Christ, Paul has to be placed near to the apocalypses and far from the historical Jesus; whereas in order to explain the warm, personal relation between Paul and his Christ, Paul would have to be placed near to the historical Jesus and far from the apocalypses.

This quandary could be avoided only by deriving the warm, personal relation between Paul and his Christ from something other than the character of the historical Jesus. Wrede and BrÜckner might seek to derive it from the one fact of the crucifixion. All that Paul really derived from the historical Jesus, according to Wrede and BrÜckner, was the fact that the Messiah had come to earth and died. But that one fact, it might be maintained, was sufficient to produce the fervent Christ-religion of Paul. For Paul interpreted the death of the Messiah as a death suffered for the sins of others. Such a death involved self-sacrifice; it must have been an act of love. Hence the beneficiaries were grateful; hence the warm, personal relationship of Paul to the one who had loved him and given Himself for him.[120]

But how did the death of Jesus ever come to be interpreted by Paul as a vicarious death of the Messiah? The natural answer would be that it was because of something that Jesus had said or because of an impression derived from His character. That answer is excluded by Wrede's hypothesis. How then did Paul come to regard the death of Jesus as a vicarious death of the Messiah? It could only have been because Paul already had a doctrine of the vicarious death of the Messiah before his conversion. But nothing is more unlikely. There is in late pre-Christian Jewish literature not a trace of such a doctrine.[121] The Messiah in 4 Ezra is represented, indeed, as dying, but His death is of benefit to no one. He dies, along with all the inhabitants of earth, simply in order to make way for the new world.[122] In Justin Martyr's Dialogue with Trypho, the Jew Trypho is represented as admitting that the Messiah was to suffer. But the suffering is not represented as vicarious. And since the Dialogue was written in the middle of the second century after Christ, the isolated testimony of Trypho cannot be used as a witness to first-century conditions. It is perfectly possible, as SchÜrer suggested, that certain Jews of the second century were only led to concede the suffering of the Messiah in the light of the Scriptural arguments advanced by the Christians. The rabbinical evidence as to sufferings of the Messiah is also too late to be used in reconstructing the pre-Christian environment of Paul. And of real evidence from the period just before Paul's day there is none. In 4 Maccabees vi. 28, 29, indeed (less clearly in xvii. 21, 22), the blood of the righteous is represented as bringing purification for the people. The dying martyr Eleazar is represented as praying:[123] "Be merciful unto thy people, and let our punishment be a satisfaction in their behalf. Make my blood their purification, and take my soul to ransom their souls." This passage, however, is entirely isolated. There is no evidence whatever that the vicarious suffering of the righteous was anything like an established doctrine in the Judaism of Paul's day, and in particular there is no evidence that in pre-Christian Judaism the idea of vicarious suffering was applied to the Messiah. Undoubtedly Isaiah liii might have formed a basis for such an application; it may even seem surprising that that glorious passage was not more influential. But as a matter of fact, Judaism was moving in a very different direction; the later doctrine of the Messiah had absolutely no place for a vicarious death or for vicarious suffering. All the sources are here in agreement. Neither in the apocalypses nor in what is presupposed in the New Testament about Jewish belief is there any trace of a vicarious death of the Messiah. Indeed, there is abundant evidence that such an idea was extremely repulsive to the Jewish mind. The Cross was unto the Jews a stumbling-block.[124]

Thus the warm, personal relation of love and gratitude which Paul sustains to the risen Christ is entirely unexplained by anything in his Jewish environment. It is not explained by the Jewish doctrine of the Messiah; it is not explained by reflection upon the vicarious death of the Messiah. For the Messiah in Jewish expectation was not to suffer a vicarious death. Such a relation of love and gratitude could be sustained only toward a living person. It could be sustained toward Jesus of Nazareth, if Jesus continued to live in glory, but it could not be sustained toward the Messiah of the apocalypses.

The third difference between the Pauline Christ and the Messiah of the apocalypses concerns the very center of the Pauline conception—there is in the apocalypses no doctrine of the divinity of the Messiah. In Paul, the divinity of Christ is presupposed on every page. The word "divinity" is indeed often being abused; in modern pantheizing liberalism, it means absolutely nothing. But the divinity of Christ in the Pauline Epistles is to be understood in the highest possible sense. The Pauline doctrine of the divinity of Christ is not dependent upon individual passages; it does not depend upon the question whether in Rom. ix. 5 Paul applies the term "God" to Christ. Certainly he does so by any natural interpretation of his words. But what is far more important is that the term "Lord" in the Pauline Epistles, the characteristic Pauline name of Christ, is every whit as much a designation of deity as is the term "God."[125] Everywhere in the Epistles, moreover, the attitude of Paul toward Christ is not merely the attitude of man to man, or scholar to master; it is the attitude of man toward God.

Such an attitude is absent from the apocalyptic representation of the Messiah. For example, the way in which God and Christ are linked together regularly at the beginnings of the Pauline Epistles—God our father and the Lord Jesus Christ[126]—this can find no real parallel in 1 Enoch. The isolated passages (1 Enoch xlix. 10; lxx. 1) where in 1 Enoch the Lord of Spirits and the Son of Man or the Elect One are linked together by the word "and," do not begin to approach the height of the Pauline conception. It is not surprising and not particularly significant that the wicked are designated in one passage as those who have "denied the Lord of Spirits and His anointed" (1 Enoch xlix. 10). Such an expression would be natural even if the Anointed One were, for example, merely an earthly king of David's line. What is characteristic of Paul, on the other hand, is that God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ are not merely united by the conjunction "and" in isolated passages—that might happen even if they belonged to different spheres of being—but are united regularly and as a matter of course, and are just as regularly separated from all other beings except the Holy Spirit. Moreover, God and Christ, in Paul, have attributed to them the same functions. Grace and peace, for example, come equally from both. Such a representation would be quite incongruous in 1 Enoch. Equally incongruous in 1 Enoch would be the Pauline separation of the Christ from ordinary humanity and from angels. The author of 1 Enoch could hardly have said, "Not from men nor through a man but through the Elect One and the Lord of Spirits," as Paul says, "Not from men nor through a man but through Jesus Christ and God the Father who raised him from the dead" (Gal. i. 1). On the other hand, the way in which 1 Enoch includes the Elect One in the middle of a long list of beings who praise the Lord of Spirits (1 Enoch lxi. 10, 11) would be absolutely inconceivable in Paul.

This stupendous difference is established not by isolated passages, but by every page of the Pauline Epistles. The Pauline Christ is exalted to an infinite height above the Messiah of the apocalypses. How did He reach this height? Was it because He was identified with Jesus of Nazareth? But that identification, if Jesus of Nazareth were a mere man, would have dragged Him down rather than lifted Him up. There lies the unsolved problem. Even if Paul before his conversion believed in the heavenly Messiah of the apocalypses, he had to exalt that Messiah far beyond all that had ever been attributed to Him in the boldest visions of the Jewish seers, before he could produce the Christ of the Epistles. Yet the only new thing that had entered Paul's life was identification of the Messiah with Jesus. Why did that identification lift the Messiah to the throne of God? Who was this Jesus, who by His identification with the Messiah, lifted the Messiah even far above men's wildest dreams?

Thus the Messianic doctrine of the apocalypses is an insufficient basis for the Pauline Christology. Its insufficiency is admitted by Hans Windisch.[127] But Windisch seeks to supply what is lacking in the apocalyptic Messiah by appealing to the Jewish doctrine of "Wisdom." The apocalyptic doctrine of the Messiah, Windisch admits, will not explain the origin of the Pauline Christology; for example, it will not explain Paul's doctrine of the activity of Christ in creation. But "Wisdom" is thought to supply the lack.

In Prov. viii, "wisdom" is celebrated in lofty terms, and is said to have existed before the creation of the world. "Wisdom" is here boldly personified in a poetic way. But she is not regarded as a real person separate from God. In later books, however, notably in the Alexandrian "Wisdom of Solomon," the personification is developed until it seems to involve actual personality. Wisdom seems to be regarded as an "hypostasis," a figure in some sort distinct from God. This hypostasis, Windisch believes, was identified by Paul with Christ, and the result was the Pauline Christology.

The figure of Wisdom, Windisch believes, will supply two elements in the Pauline Christ-religion which are lacking in the Messiah of the apocalypses. In the first place, it will account for the Pauline notion that Christ was active in creation, since Wisdom in Jewish belief is repeatedly represented as the assessor or even the instrument of the Creator. In the second place, it will account for the intimate relation between Paul and his Christ, since Wisdom is represented in the "Wisdom of Solomon" as entering into the wise man, and the wise man seems to be represented in Proverbs viii and in Ecclesiasticus as the mouthpiece of Wisdom.[128]

But when was the identification of the Messiah with Wisdom accomplished? Was it accomplished by Paul himself after his conversion? Or was it received by Paul from pre-Christian Jewish doctrine? If it was accomplished by Paul himself after his conversion, then absolutely no progress has been made toward the explanation of the Pauline Christology. How did Paul come to identify Jesus of Nazareth with the divine figure of Wisdom? It could only have been because Jesus was such a person as to make the identification natural. But that supposition is of course excluded by the naturalistic principles with which Windisch is operating. The identification of Jesus with Wisdom at or after the conversion is, therefore, absolutely inexplicable; in substituting Wisdom for the apocalyptic Messiah as the basis of the Pauline Christology, Windisch has destroyed whatever measure of plausibility the theory of Wrede and BrÜckner possessed. For it is really essential to Wrede's theory that Paul before his conversion had not only believed in the existence of a heavenly being like the Son of Man of 1 Enoch, but had also expected that heavenly being to appear. Since he had expected the heavenly being to appear, it might seem to be not so absolutely inexplicable that he came to think that that being had actually appeared in the person of Jesus. But no one expected Wisdom to appear, in any more definite way than by the entrance which she had already accomplished into the hearts of wise men. The thought of an incarnation or a parousia of Wisdom is absolutely foreign to Jewish thought. What possible reason was there, then, for Paul to think that Wisdom actually had appeared and would finally appear again in the person of Jesus?

Thus the theory of Windisch can be maintained only if the identification of Wisdom with the Messiah was accomplished not by Paul after the conversion but by pre-Christian Judaism. If Paul's pre-Christian doctrine of the Messiah already contained vital elements drawn from the doctrine of Wisdom, then and then only might it be held that the Pauline Christ, with His activity in creation and His spiritual indwelling in the believer, was merely the pre-Christian Messiah. But was the pre-Christian Messiah ever identified with the hypostasis Wisdom? Upon an affirmative answer to this question depends the whole structure of Windisch's theory. But Windisch passes the question over rather lightly. He tries, indeed, to establish certain coincidences between the doctrine of the Messiah in 1 Enoch and in the Septuagint translation of Micah v. 2 and Ps. cx. 3 on the one hand, and the descriptions of Wisdom on the other; but the coincidences apparently amount to nothing except the ascription of preËxistence to both figures. But the fundamental trouble is that Windisch has an entirely inadequate conception of what really needs to be proved. What Windisch really needs to do is to ascribe to the pre-Christian doctrine of the Messiah two elements—activity in creation and spiritual indwelling—which in the extant sources are found not at all in the descriptions of the Messiah but only in the descriptions of Wisdom. Even if he succeeded in establishing verbal dependence of the descriptions of the Messiah upon the descriptions of Wisdom, that would not really prove his point at all. Such verbal dependence as a matter of fact has not been established, but if it were established it would be without significance. It would be far more completely devoid of significance than is the similarity between the descriptions of the heavenly Messiah as judge and the descriptions of God as judge. This latter similarity may be significant, when taken in connection with other evidence, as being a true anticipation of the Christian doctrine of the deity of Christ, but in itself it will hardly be held (at least it will hardly be held by Windisch) to establish the complete personal identity, in Jewish thinking, of the Messiah and God, so that everything that is said about God in pre-Christian Jewish sources can henceforth be applied to the Messiah. Why then should similarity in language between the descriptions of the Wisdom of God as preËxistent and the descriptions of the Messiah as preËxistent (even if that similarity existed) establish such identity between the Messiah and Wisdom that what is attributed to Wisdom (notably spiritual indwelling) can henceforth be attributed to the Messiah? There is really no evidence whatever for supposing that the Messiah was conceived of in pre-Christian Judaism either as being active in creation or as dwelling in the hearts of men. Indeed, with regard to the latter point, there is decisive evidence of the contrary. The figure of the Messiah in the apocalypses is as incongruous as anything can possibly be with the idea of spiritual indwelling. Wisdom is conceived of as dwelling in the hearts of men only because Wisdom in Jewish literature is not really or completely a concrete person, but is also an abstract quality. The Messiah is a concrete person and hence is not thought of as indwelling. It was something absolutely without precedent, therefore, when Paul regarded his Christ—who is nothing if not a person, and a person who may be loved—as dwelling in the heart of the believer.

Objection will no doubt be raised against this treatment of the idea of personality. Wisdom, we have argued, was never in Jewish literature regarded consistently as a person distinct from God; whereas the Messiah was always regarded as a person. Against this argument it will be objected that the ancient world possessed no idea of personality at all, so that the difference between Wisdom and the Messiah disappears. But what is meant by the objection? If it is meant only that the ancient world possessed no definition of personality, the point may perhaps be conceded. But it is quite irrelevant. If, on the other hand, what is meant is that the ancients had no way of distinguishing between a person and a mere quality, no way of feeling the difference even if the difference could not be put into words, then an emphatic denial is in place. Without such a power of practical, if not theoretical, distinction, no mental or moral life at all, to say nothing of the highly developed life of the Hellenistic age, would have been possible. It is highly important, therefore, to observe that Wisdom in Jewish literature hardly becomes regarded as a person in any consistent way. Undoubtedly the hypostasizing has gone to considerable lengths, but it is always possible for the writers to hark back to the original sense of the word "wisdom"—to play at least upon the original meaning. Wisdom seems to be treated not merely as a person but also as an attribute of God.

Thus Windisch is entirely unjustified when he uses passages which represent the Messiah as possessing "wisdom" to prove that the Messiah was regarded as identical with Wisdom. A striking example of this mistake is found in the treatment of 1 Enoch xlix. 3, where it is said that in the Elect One "dwells the spirit of wisdom, and the spirit which gives insight, and the spirit of understanding and of might and the spirit of those who have fallen asleep in righteousness." A still more striking example is found in the use of 1 Cor. i. 24, 30, where Christ crucified is called the power of God and the wisdom of God, and is said to have become to believers wisdom and justification and sanctification and redemption. Windisch actually uses these passages as evidence for the application to the apocalyptic Messiah and to the Pauline Christ of the attributes of the hypostasis Wisdom. Could anything be more utterly unwarranted? The inclusion of "wisdom" in a considerable list of what the Son of Man possesses or of what Christ means to the believer, far from proving that 1 Enoch or Paul identified the Messiah with the hypostasized Wisdom, rather proves, if proof be necessary, that they did not make the identification. It is a very different thing to say that Christ possesses wisdom (along with other qualities) or brings wisdom to the believer (along with other gifts) from saying that Christ is so identical with the hypostasis Wisdom of the "wisdom literature" that what is there said about Wisdom is to be attributed to Him. Windisch himself observes, very significantly, that Paul could not actually designate Christ as "Wisdom" because the word wisdom is of feminine gender in Greek. The difference of gender is here the symbol of a profound difference in essential character. The figure of Wisdom in Jewish literature, with its curious vacillation between personality and abstraction, is absolutely incongruous with the warm, living, concrete, personal figure of the Pauline Christ. The two belong to totally different circles of ideas. No wonder that even Bousset (as Windisch complains) has not ventured to bring them into connection. The Pauline Christology was certainly not based upon the pre-Christian doctrine of Wisdom.

Thus the first great objection to Wrede's derivation of the Pauline Christology is that it is simply insufficient. The Messiah of the Jewish apocalypses is not great enough to have been the basis of the Pauline Christ. If before the conversion Paul had believed in the apocalyptic Messiah, then when he was converted he lifted his conception to far greater heights than it had before attained. But what caused him to do so? Apparently he ought to have done exactly the reverse. If Jesus was a mere man, then the identification of the Messiah with Him ought to have pushed the conception of the Messiah down instead of lifting it up. As Baldensperger significantly remarks, the Jewish apocalyptists faced less difficulty in presenting a transcendent Messiah than did their successors, the exponents of a metaphysical Christology in the Christian Church, since the Jewish apocalyptists could give free course to their fancy, whereas the Christians were hampered by the recollections of the earthly Jesus.[129] This observation, on the basis of Baldensperger's naturalistic presuppositions, is entirely correct. But the strange thing is that the recollections of Jesus, far from hampering the Christians in their ascription of supernatural attributes to the Messiah, actually had just the opposite effect. Paul furnishes a striking example. Before he identified the Messiah with Jesus, he did not really think of the Messiah as divine—not even if he believed in the transcendent Messiah of 1 Enoch. But after he identified the Messiah with Jesus, he said "not by man but by Christ." Why was it that identification with Jesus, instead of bringing the apocalyptic Messiah down to earth, lifted Him rather to the throne of God? Was it, after all, because of something in Jesus? If it was, then the eternal Son of God walked upon earth, and suffered for the sins of men. If it was not, then the fundamental historical problem of Christianity is still entirely unsolved.

But another objection faces the solution proposed by Wrede and BrÜckner. Suppose the apocalyptic doctrine of the Messiah were really adequate to the strain which is placed upon it. Suppose it really represented the Messiah as active in creation and as indwelling in the hearts of the faithful and as exalted to the throne of God. These suppositions are entirely without warrant in the facts; they transcend by far even the claims of Wrede and BrÜckner themselves. But suppose they were correct. Even then the genesis of Paul's religion would not be explained. Suppose the Pauline doctrine of the Messiah really was complete in his mind before he was converted. Even then, another problem remains. How did he come to identify his exalted Messiah with a Jew who had lived but a few years before and had died a shameful death? The thing might be explained if Jesus was what He is represented in all of the extant sources as being—a supernatural person whose glory shone out plain even through the veil of flesh. It might be explained if Paul before his conversion really believed that the heavenly Christ was to come to earth before His final parousia and die an accursed death. But the former alternative is excluded by the naturalistic presuppositions of the modern man. And the latter is excluded by an overwhelming weight of evidence as to pre-Christian Judaism and the pre-Christian life of Paul. How then did Paul come to identify his heavenly Messiah with Jesus of Nazareth? It could only have been through the strange experience which he had near Damascus. But what, in turn, caused that experience? No answer, on the basis of naturalistic presuppositions, has yet been given. In removing the supernatural from the earthly life of Jesus, modern naturalism has precluded the only possible naturalistic explanation of the conversion of Paul. If Jesus had given evidence of being the heavenly Son of Man, then Paul might conceivably, though still not probably, have become convinced against his will, and might, conceivably though still not probably, have experienced an hallucination in which he thought he saw Jesus living in glory. But if Jesus was a mere man, the identification of Him with the heavenly apocalyptic Messiah becomes inconceivable, and the experience through which that identification took place is left absolutely uncaused. Thus the hypothesis of Wrede and BrÜckner defeats itself. In arguing that Paul's pre-conversion conception of the Messiah was not a conception of a mere earthly being or the like, but that of a transcendent being, Wrede and BrÜckner are really digging the grave of their own theory. For the more exalted was the Messiah in whom Paul believed before his conversion, the more inexplicable becomes the identification of that Messiah with a crucified malefactor.

But still another objection remains. Suppose the Pauline Christ were simply the Messiah of the Jewish apocalypses; suppose Paul knew so little about the historical Jesus that he could even identify the exalted Messiah with Him. Even then another fact requires explanation. How did Paul come to be so strikingly similar to the historical Jesus both in teaching and in character? Wrede was audacious enough to explain the similarity as due to a common dependence upon Judaism.[130] But at this point few have followed him. For the striking fact is that Paul agrees with Jesus in just those matters to which Judaism was most signally opposed. It would be more plausible to say that Paul agrees with Jesus because both of them abandoned contemporary Judaism and returned to the Old Testament prophets. But even that explanation would be quite inadequate. The similarity between Jesus and Paul goes far beyond what both hold in common with the Prophets and the Psalms. And why did two men return to the Prophets and Psalms at just the same time and in just the same way? The similarity between Jesus and Paul might then be regarded as due to mere chance. Paul, it might be supposed, developed the ideal of Christian love from the death of the Messiah, which he interpreted as an act of self-sacrifice.[131] This ideal of love happened to be just the same as that which Jesus of Nazareth exemplified in a life of service—to which life of service, however, Paul was completely indifferent. Such, essentially, is what the hypothesis of Wrede really amounts to. The hypothesis is really absurd. But its absurdity is instructive. It is an absurdity to which the naturalistic account of the origin of Christianity is driven by an inexorable logic. Paul, it must be supposed, could not have regarded Jesus as a divine being if he had really known Jesus. The similarity of his life and teaching to that of Jesus cannot, therefore, be due to knowledge of Jesus. It must therefore be due to chance. In other words, it is dangerous, on naturalistic principles, to bring Paul into contact with Jesus. For if he is brought into contact with Jesus, his witness to Jesus will have to be heard. And when his witness is heard, the elaborate modern reconstructions of the "liberal Jesus" fall to the ground. For according to Paul, Jesus was no mere Galilean prophet, but the Lord of Glory.

CHAPTER VI

THE RELIGION OF THE HELLENISTIC AGE